by Jerry Buck
All Angus knew about her was that her name was Lily Gebhart and that she had a room over the Alhambra.
A few inquiries after I left Angus produced the fact that she was better known in Dodge as “Tiger Lily.”
The sobriquet had nothing to do with flowers. Far from being the innocent prairie blossom Dusty thought she was, she was tied up with a tinhorn gambler named Tim O’Rourke. She frequently acted as his shill, and he in turn steered lonesome cowboys into her chambers to be plucked. Once, according to local legend, she had gotten into a knife fight with Squirrel Tooth Alice, and it took five men and six buckets of water to separate them.
I found Lily’s room. A faded pick ribbon hung from the doorknob— the signal that she was engaged. I figured I knew who she was busy with.
I knocked on the door. There was a muffled sound inside, and someone shuffled toward the door.
“Go ’way, can’t y’see I’m busy,” said a woman’s voice from the other side of the door.
I rapped on the door again, this time more insistently.
“Whatta y’want?” the voice said irritably.
“Tim sent me,” I answered.
After a silence, she said, “I said I was busy!”
“Tim suggested you oughta see me,” I said, getting more insistent. For good measure, I added, “I just sold my herd of five thousand longhorns, and I’m lookin’ for some fun.”
A key turned in the lock and the door opened a crack. Tiger Lily peeked through. She had mouse-brown hair, pouting lips, and a gold front tooth that gleamed when she opened her mouth. She wore a cheap, frilly wrap in a bilious shade of yellow.
“Tim sent ya?” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Y’say ya just sold yer herd?”
“That’s right. I’m loaded and lookin’ for some fun.” I winked broadly. “Know what I mean?”
She smiled coyly and said in a hoarse whisper, "I’m innertainin’ a frien’ right now.” She hesitated. “Jes’ sold yer herd, huh? Why dontcha wait in the bar, sugar. Gimme few minutes to git ridda my frien’. Then come on back and I’ll show you what a good time’s supposed to be.”
I grinned and said I’d be back in a few minutes.
She closed the door. I looked down both ends of the hall. It was empty. A few doors down, toward the stairway to the bar downstairs, was a vestibule where I could wait for Dusty. If I knew Dusty, he wouldn’t be devious enough to sneak out the back entrance.
I didn’t have long to wait. Tiger Lily was obviously well practiced in the art of giving cowboys the burn’s rush.
I was flat against the wall, and in the dark Dusty didn’t see me as he walked past.
I reached out of the vestibule and caught him by the arm. “Dusty, fancy meetin’ you here!”
He jumped from surprise. “Mr. Wheeler! I never expected to see—I mean—I—”
He dissolved into mute embarrassment.
“Dusty,” I said cheerfully, “no need to blush. You’re a man now, and you’ve got a man’s needs. Been visiting your girl, huh?”
“I—how did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. But ain’t you leaving kinda early? It’s still the shank of the evening.”
“Well, I was gonna stay longer, but Lily—that’s my girl—she got called out by the doctor.”
“Doctor?” I questioned. “I hope she’s not sick.”
“Naw, nothing like that. Lily does nurse work for the doc. He came to the door minute ago and said this old lady was doin’ poorly and he needed Lily to sit up with her.”
“And she couldn’t say no.”
“Yeah,” he said proudly. “She’s right public spirited.”
I said, “Tell me, Dusty, you still got any money on you?”
“Sure. Got my wad right here.” He took the roll of bills from his vest pocket. It was tied with a leather thong.
Maybe I was wrong. Still, I doubted that Lily had changed her spots. On a hunch, I said, “Open it up, Dusty. Let’s see the color of your green.”
“Huh?” He hesitated, then untied the thong as he said, “See Mr. Wheeler, it’s all right here—”
He stopped suddenly and blanched.
A single dollar bill was on the outside of the roll. The rest was nothing but cut paper.
“I had it all!” Dusty said in disbelief. “I had seventy-two dollars left! I counted it all before I went upstairs. I like to count it ’cause I never had so much money before in my whole life. It’s all gone! Where could it have gone, Mr. Wheeler?”
“Maybe you dropped it in Lily’s room,” I said, leading him back to the door. I signaled him to stand out of sight against the wall and be quiet. He gave me a questioning look but obeyed as I rapped lightly on the door.
Lily opened the door a crack, peered out, then opened it wide. “Well, Mr. Cattleman, I told you it wouldn’t take long.” She had one of those get-rich-quick grins on her face.
“Who was your friend?” I asked casually. “Anybody important?”
“Important!” she hooted. “Don’t make me laugh!”
I stepped inside the room, but not far enough for her to close the door. I said, “I’m here to have some fun.”
“That’s what I’m here for, to show a gentleman like you a good time.”
Dusty stepped behind me, a hurt expression on his face.
“Lily,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion, “you said you was goin’ to sit up with a sick old lady!”
“What’s that snot-nosed kid doin’ back here?” she exploded. “Throw ’im out!”
“Lily!” he cried.
Then a sudden realization came over him. “My money! You stole my money!”
“I doan know what y’talkin’ ’bout! ” To me she said, “Throw that kid outa here and I’ll show you a good time!”
“So you can pick my pocket, too,” I said.
Dusty said, “Mr. Wheeler, I want my money back!”
Lily’s eyes opened wide. “You two in this together!”
I said calmly, “I think you better give Dusty his money back.”
“Git outa here, both of you!” she said angrily, trying to close the door.
I stood squarely in the way. I grabbed her wrist and held it firmly. “Lily,” I said, “I think the smartest thing you can do is give the boy his money back.”
“The hell I will!” she spit, trying to twist away. I held on tightly and pulled her closer to me. I could smell her cheap perfume.
“Lily,” I said firmly, “if I have to break your scrawny little neck. If I have to knock out your gold tooth—”
“You wouldn’t hit no lady!”
“I don’t see no lady. Do you, Dusty?”
“Y’hurtin’ me!” she whined. “Awright, I’ll give ’im his money back. I’ll get it.”
I released her, and she went to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
I was right behind her. As she turned, she had a derringer in her right hand. I grabbed it and twisted it out of her hand.
“You bastard! My Tim’ll take care of you!”
Dusty said, “Yore Tim better think twice on that. This here’s Mr. Ben Wheeler, the man what taken Kid Bayliss in a fair fight. And if he don’t handle yore Tim, I will!”
Lily’s jaw dropped. She swallowed, reached into the drawer again, and dropped a roll of bills into my hands. I gave it to Dusty, who slowly counted it.
“It’s all here,” he said finally. “Seventy-one dollars. Plus the one she left me on the roll.”
At the door I broke the derringer and dropped its two bullets into my pocket.
I said, “I’ll leave your little toy outside. Good-bye, Tiger Lily, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Git out, y’bastard!”
Walking down the hall, I clasped an arm around Dusty’s shoulder.
I said, “Dusty, I think you did a little more growing up tonight!”
At daybreak I was in front of the Dodge House to say good-bye to Angus and th
e cowboys I had spent such a satisfying part of my life with.
I shook hands with Alamo and Pete and Ford and Chago and Ginger and all the rest.
Dusty, I was happy to see, was riding back with them.
Angus grasped my hand. He said. “When you’ve finished your business, anytime you want to come back my offer still stands. Full partnership.”
The wind must have blown something into my eyes. They started to moisten.
Angus said, “Good luck. God be with you.” He turned to mount his horse, looked back, and said, ‘“For auld lang syne’!”
“More of your Bobby Burns?” For auld lang syne’ Angus.”
I said good-bye to Dusty last.
“You’re a man now, Dusty. Don’t ever doubt it and don’t ever let anyone tell you different. You proved it on the trail, you proved it in the livery stable, and you proved it last night.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I know it now. Nobody’ll ever have to tell me again.”
“I’ll miss you, Dusty.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Mr. Wh—Ben. I’m a man now, and I can call you what men call you. Good-bye, Ben.”
Dusty took a white, furry object from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.
“It’s my rabbit’s foot,” he said. “I want you to have it. When you go lookin’ fer them other two men, I hope it brings you as much luck as it brought me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wyatt Earp rose to shake my hand when I walked into the private dining room at Delmonico’s.
“Ben, I’m glad you decided to join us,” Earp said. “You know Chalk Beeson.”
I shook hands with Beeson, a medium-sized man with slicked-down black hair and a large mustache. His hands were big and still callused from his days as a stage driver in Colorado.
I said, “I think I’ve spent half my time in Dodge at your establishment listening to your orchestra.”
Beeson beamed and said, “I hope you also sampled some of our fine Kentucky bourbon, too.”
“That I did.”
Earp said, “This is Fred Zimmerman. Runs the hardware and gun shop.”
Zimmerman, a burly man with a thick black beard, had a viselike grip. “You need guns or bullets, you come see me,” he said in a Prussian accent.
George Hoover I had met when I frequented his saloon and bought a fresh supply of cheroots. Charles Rath, who bought and sold buffalo hides, I knew by reputation. Rath was with his partner, Bob Wright. The other men in the room were “Deacon” Cox from the Dodge House, A. J. Peacock from the Lady Gay, and Henry Strum from the Occident Saloon.
“Gentlemen, why don’t we take our seats and we’ll tell Mr. Wheeler why we’ve asked him here,” said Earp.
We pulled up chairs around the table. Beeson poured me a whiskey from the bottle on the table and passed the bottle on.
Hoover, handed a cigar across the table. “I know you like my brand, Mr. Wheeler,” he said. “Finest hand-rolled. Imported all the way from the island of Cuba.”
“Ben,” Earp began, “we got nineteen saloons here in Dodge. They do a hell of a cash business, especially in the summer when the herds come to town. The gamblin’ concessions bring in still more money. Fred Zimmerman, Charlie Rath, just about everybody does a hell of a big business. George Hoover here wholesales four, five thousand dollars’ worth of liquor a month.”
Earp paused to let that sink in. He sucked deep on his cigar and through a cloud of smoke said, “The one thing we ain’t got in Dodge City is a bank. Makes it mighty risky keepin’ that kinda cash on hand. So once a month we load the money onto the Santa Fe and ship it to a bank in Leavenworth. I think you know that.”
“That gets mighty risky, too,” said Beeson. “Used to drive a stage in Colorado, so I’ve had a little experience with road agents.”
“Fifty t’ousand, that’s how much we sendin’ out!” boomed Zimmerman. “Ja, dot’s a lot of money! I vouldn’t enjoy losin’ my share, little as it is!”
“And you want me to ride shotgun, is that it?” I asked without taking the cigar out of my mouth.
“That’s about the size of it,” said Earp. “We’re puttin’ the money on the Pueblo Express two days from now. You see it through to Leavenworth, and you got yourself five hundred dollars.”
Beeson leaned forward and winked. “You been askin’ ’bout Bill Smoot. This might be your chance to find him.”
“Suppose it’s the James boys or the Youngers?” I asked.
Zimmerman threw up his hands. “Ve still need protectin’. Jesse James, Yunkers, Schmoot, who is earin’ who tries to steal our money? They show up, you shoot ’em. It’s simple, yes?”
Earp said, “I don’t know where Jesse or Frank’s at. But I do know Smoot’s been operatin’ in this area lately. I know he’s got informants in Dodge who tip him off about our money shipments.”
“Then he’ll know about me,” I said.
“Like I said, you ain’t exactly kept it no secret that you’re lookin’ for him,” Earp said. “And he sure knows about Bayliss. But I don’t think he’s gonna know you’re on the train. Nobody knows about this meetin’ or what it’s for except the people in this room.”
“Things have a way of getting out,” I said.
“Vid dis much money, my mouth is ticka-lock shut,” said Zimmerman, making a key-turning movement at his mouth with his hand.
“We’ll get you a ticket, and you travel under another name. You can be a drover got business in Kansas City or Leavenworth. Or anything you wanna be.”
Earp looked at me across the table. They all looked at me.
“Whatta y’say? You with us?” he asked.
My fist hit the table, shaking the bottle and glasses. “If it leads me to Smoot,” I said, “I’ll ride the cowcatcher all the way to Leavenworth holding the money in my lap!”
The prairie slipped past my coach window like a passing panorama. A copy of the Dodge City Times lay in my lap, but I was mesmerized by the flat plains, the gently rocking railroad car, and the clickety-clack of the wheels over the rough track.
The sun overhead beat down mercilessly on the coach roof and raised the heat inside the coach. But you had two choices. Suffer the heat, or raise the window and eat smoke and cinders all the way across Kansas.
I kept a lookout for Smoot’s gang, but after a while my eyes began to weary. The heat also contributed to my drowsiness. Still, if he hit the Pueblo Express, I would know about it quickly enough.
“Ticket, please.”
Deep in thought, I had not noticed the conductor coming down the aisle of the coach car.
“Ticket, please,” he repeated.
I reached inside my coat and took out my ticket and handed it to the conductor. As I did so, the badge Earp had given me was exposed momentarily. I quickly folded my coat back. I didn’t want my purpose known yet. Not until it was necessary.
The conductor inspected the seat number and destination on my ticket. “Leavenworth, eh?” he said. “Change trains in Kansas City.” He pulled up a punch hanging on a small chain from his belt and put a hole in my ticket.
My job was to keep an eye on the sack of money locked in the express car. Wherever it went, I went. Hopefully, that would be safely to the bank in Leavenworth.
Most of all, I was looking forward to collecting my reward. Not the five hundred dollars they had promised me—but the satisfaction of a confrontation with Bill Smoot.
The conductor had moved on to the next passenger, but he turned back to me. “Dinin’ car’s open if yer stommick’s feelin’ a mite empty,” he suggested. “Or y’kin stay here. Sandwich vendor cornin’ through.”
I nodded and said, “Think I’ll try the dining car.”
I got out of my seat and stretched to work out the kinks. “By the way,” I asked the conductor, “what time you got?”
He pulled his big railroad pocket watch out of the vest pocket of his dark blue uniform, flipped open the cover with his thumb, and said, “Twelve-thirty.” He closed
the cover with a snap. “Railroad time,” he added smugly.
The Pueblo Express had pulled out of Dodge City five hours ago. No sign of Smoot yet.
A white-coated steward seated me at a table near the rear of the crowded dining car.
“Last table, suh,” he said, and handed me a menu. “You is a lucky gennelman.”
I ordered a whiskey and reviewed the situation.
The express car, containing Dodge City’s fifty thousand dollars, was at the rear of the train. It was between the caboose, which was the very last car, and the baggage car. In all, there were four passenger cars, with the dining car in the middle. The coach I was in was the last one, next to the baggage car. At the head of the train was the wood tender and the 4-6-0 engine from the Pittsburgh Locomotive Works. The locomotive’s function was to pull the train and, so it seemed, to spew choking black smoke and cinders from its huge diamond stack.
A special guard from the Adams Express Company rode with the money shipment in the express car. He was well armed.
So was I. I had my .45 in my holster, plus the Colt Artillery Model I had taken off Kid Bayliss and two boxes of spare bullets stashed in my valise. My Winchester was strapped to the outside of the case.
I was traveling under the name of Henry Johnson, and no one—at least, I hoped no one—knew why I was aboard.
The last time Smoot hit the Santa Fe, he and his men had stopped the train east of Hutchinson and leisurely looted the express car and robbed the passengers.
The prize was much bigger this time. He was sure to know it was more closely guarded. I doubted he would operate the same way. Smoot was too smart to establish a pattern that could trap him.
“’Scuse me, suh,” the steward said. “They’s no mo’ tables, an’ I wuz wonderin’, suh, if you’d be so kind as to share yo’ table wif, uh, this here young lady?”
I looked up. My right hand was still wrapped around the whiskey glass.
The young lady was about twenty-five. She was elegantly dressed in a baby-blue dress with white trimming. Her dark hair was rolled up and pinned under an elaborate hat of felt and ribbons and dried flowers. She carried a huge cloth purse that matched her dress. She was very beautiful and she smiled beguilingly.